


Cyborg

by zavegonzo



Series: Random Ficlets [16]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Cyborgs, Gen, It takes place in basically the real world except there are cyborgs, No Beta We Die Like Robots, OK To Comment, Robot Feels, Science Fiction, Short One Shot, Species Dysphoria, Speculative fiction, Vignettes, Voidpunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26501782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zavegonzo/pseuds/zavegonzo
Summary: One human can't help but look with envious eyes at their cyborg brethren.
Series: Random Ficlets [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1340926
Kudos: 4





	Cyborg

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Etched in Bone and Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/685234) by PileOfGayFurs. 



They like math a lot. Always have. Whenever they get a math problem right, some deep part of their mind flutters in joy. It makes them _feel_ right.

They like art, too. Always have. When they open up their computer tower to clean it, they take a moment to just admire all of the different intricate chips, fans, and wires so elegantly placed. No painting could compare to such a masterpiece.

They don’t like being looked at. Never did. When they have to go somewhere, their form is always covered with long sleeves, a hood, pants going past their ankles. At least like this, they can pretend like there’s something _else_ underneath the surface.

They don’t like restrictions. Never did. They don’t want to be restricted by boredom, or by outside problems keeping them from doing whatever task they’re doing. Those things make them feel useless. They don’t like feeling useless.

They’ve always felt useless.

They don’t know what the problem causing this is.

They’re at their school, silently doing work in the computer lab. They feel distant from the monitor, from the keyboard, from the circuits in the tower just a few feet away. They want to be closer. They don’t know why.

They’re at home. It’s a school night, but they’re keeping themself up restlessly searching the internet. Looking up tech. Looking up cyborgs. Looking up self-hatred. They want an answer. They don’t know what question to ask.

Their eyes are leaking.

One of those cyborgs is in their math class. They can’t help but look with envy at his half-machine body. They feel guilty for the thought, burying it and replacing it with the fleeting satisfaction of finishing more equations.

They’re a human.

They like being quiet. Always have. Whenever the teacher asks someone to speak up, they’re never the one to raise their hand, never the one to speak. Their voice is too awkward and hesitant.

They like to pretend. Always have. Their whole life, they’ve been pretending. Pretending to be cis, pretending to be comfortable around other humans, pretending to be a…

They catch themself again.

They don’t like being honest. Never did. Being honest always results in being hurt. They know it from experience.

They don’t like crying. Never did. Crying is gross. They hate how much they cry. It’s messy and unproductive. It makes them feel useless. It happens whenever they’re honest with themself. It’s a problem.

The problem is that they’re a human.

A few years pass. They’re as quiet as ever. They pretend a little bit less, but not so little that people notice. They graduate under the wrong name, wearing the wrong face. They move out for college. As soon as they’re independent, they cut off every part of their old life. They change their documents to match who they really are, always have been, and start talking with a therapist.

There’s still another thing to do.

Over the years, they had done their research. Official websites for hospitals. Old, forgotten chatrooms for humans like themself. Sensational news articles. Promises made by overzealous CEOs that were never followed up on. They know what can and can’t be done. They know the risks. They know the stigma.

They know the process is imperfect, but it’s better than nothing.

Thanking whoever came up with the idea of informed consent, they arrange an appointment with only a phone call. They’re given some papers to sign, and then a date for the operation.

Their heart—which won’t be theirs for much longer—beats with excitement.

When the day comes, it seems to fly by in an instant. They meet with the doctor. She talks with them about what they’ve decided they want their new chassis to be like. The table presses against their back. They stare up at the ceiling. The doctor puts a mask on their face. A bitter smell fills their nose. They take a few deep breaths, one, two, three…

They don’t have lungs to take a fourth with.

Their cameras flicker on. The white blur in front of them focuses back into that ceiling. The smell is gone. So is their olfactory system.

The doctor helps them sit up. Her hands seem so much warmer than before.

They look down. It takes them a moment to register that this smooth, mechanical, nonhuman chassis they see is their own. The only human part remaining is their brain. They run a claw down one of their hard-shelled legs. They smile.

They like being a cyborg. Always will.

**Author's Note:**

> so i read Etched in Bone and Skin and i thought, "hey, what if that, but with robots instead of werewolves" and then i made this


End file.
